Castlevania Tales: The Rose Garden
by victor-cardigan
Summary: 1856, while Reinhardt is away Rosa finds herself caught investigating the strange and macabre death of a renown botanist. But does his death point to a case of plague, murder, or worse? And what are the contents of the small black box which he protected?
1. Nightmares in Winter

Intro

No doubt very few have read all or any of my stories, so allow me to set the scene. The Year is 1856, that is three years after Reinhardt, Henry, and Carrie traveled to Castlevania, faced, and defeated Dracula. The following year Reinhardt and Rosa were married taking Carrie as their ward, a year after that the newlyweds adopted Carrie as their daughter. Currently the family lives in London England where Rosa's family has roots. We come to the newly formed family at a moment where Reinhardt has been called away to duty. For although Dracula has been put rest for another hundred years, his minions as well as other evils still stalk the Earth. In his absence, Reinhardt has left his friend and knight in arms, Henry, to guard his family while also serving as Carrie's instructor in magic arts.

1. Nightmares in winter 

1856

Everest Peak #15

Soft

White

Graceful

Joy

When one thinks of snow, words such as those usually spring to mind. Snow is a catalyst for the holiday spirit. Every year there is always that one child who experiences it for the first time. They clutch it in their hands and poke at it. Very quickly the child begins to roll the foreign substance in their palms into the shape of a ball. And faster than you can yell, "watch out!" The child has learned the ancient art of throwing snowballs at unsuspecting victims. To many an adult and child snow was a symbol of childish happiness. However most of those parents and children had never sat on the ledge of mountain in Annapurna at 5000 meters. For Harrison Thatcher, snow was the bane of his existence. As the storm raged, snow barraged his face at incredible speed making the snowflakes feel like rocks. There was nothing soft, graceful, or joyous about the snowfall in the Himalayas. Even the soothing white color was here, a danger. Whiteouts proved to be deadly and many were known to have walked off the edge unknowingly unto their deaths.

Curiously, as Thatcher stomped through knee high snow, the storm did not bother him. In fact, the icy cold that normally one felt even to the bone was notably absent. He progressed effortlessly hugging the mountainside. He was totally alone, a fact which seemed not to bother him. His docile and yet disgustingly primitive guides were not present. His colleagues Crosby, Richards, and Stromm were evidently elsewhere since he could not hear their endless prattling. Alfred, his assistant, who at least had a brain, small though it was, was absent as well. He was alone, and he was happy because of it.

Human company was something that repulsed him. Had Thatcher been the first man upon this earth, he would have been happy to live with the animals alone in Eden. In fact he probably would have left paradise before Eve had the opportunity to offer him the fruit.

Although now he was covered in snow and icicles, he was generally considered to be a handsome man with striking auburn hair. The importance of hygiene having been impressed upon him by his mother, Thatcher's smile was also renowned among the ladies as being perfect. He also had the gift of intellect, being prized among his colleagues in the study of botany. Finally, he had the greatest gift of all, youth. At the age of 33, he was the object of desire for numerous women many years his junior, some even his senior. However Thatcher was not interested. His revulsion to human company was not limited to any particular sex. Despite rumors, he was not interested in men. He simply did not like people in general. He tolerated the species of which he belonged only so long as they were of use to him. Other "people" were the cooks who fed him, the tailors that clothed him, and workers that produced the various material possessions that he loved. If he could do it all on his own, he would probably annihilate the species without a second thought.

As he continued his trek he noticed something very important was missing. He didn't know where he was going. For reasons beyond him, he did not panic. He did not even try to search his own pockets for a map. Perhaps he had woken early and decided to move ahead on his own? He couldn't remember leaving camp. In fact he could not remember what the last thing he did was. All he could remember was this trek.

Much like a puppet being controlled by an invisible hand, Thatcher continued in his forward direction. Eventually he came upon a horizontal rise that blocked any further progress. This did not perturb him. Instead, with poilet1 firm in hand, Thatcher began to pick at the wall.

To his amazement, the mountainside was made of pure ice that quickly fell to pieces under his fierce jabs. Once the ice had fallen, a circular entry was underneath. Thatcher extended his hand. As it reached beyond the threshold, his body felt sudden and overwhelming warmth. A soft voice suddenly filled his ears.

"Come to us," it said.

He did not recognize the voice, but it was soft-spoken and strangely alluring. He had never before felt such a sensation from someone's voice.

"Be with us," the voice continued.

The sensation that filled Harrison was completely foreign to him. The attraction that he suddenly felt was unprecedented in his memory. But every fiber of his being denied it and fought against the urges that suddenly raged within him. An image abruptly popped into his mind. It was horrible. He closed his eyes but the images were still there engraved upon the darkness that normally came when his eyelids met.

"No!" Harrison screamed.

He found himself rising from his shaky bed in his tent. The thin sheet that separated him from the ground was damp with his sweat. Hastily he got up and pulled a rag from his bag in order to dry his back. Already he felt the cold biting at him. It would do him no good to catch pneumonia now. After getting dressed and slipping into his heavy parka, Harrison exited his tent. An arctic landscape almost exactly as the one that had filled his dream greeted him. The whistle of the wind filled his ears, along with the flapping of the tent. The camp was made of only a small number of tents. His was the only one that was not shared. Everyone else shared theirs with at least one person. The final tent acted as both the supply tent and the "mess hall." Harrison started stomping his way through the knee-high snow to have breakfast. About half way he heard his name called out. In the below zero conditions, stopping was not a problem, moving ahead was. So when Harrison turned, it was with great displeasure that he greeted the source of the call. Always youthful, energetic, and annoying, Alfred came running to his side.

"Professor."

"What is it Alfred? I'm going to have breakfast."

"May I accompany you, sir?"

"We camped on a mountainside, Alfred." He shot the hyper fellow a glance. "Do I have a choice?"

The man laughed as if it were meant as a joke. "Yes, of course." He paused for a moment and his tone changed. It was not one that Harrison had heard before. It was a mixture of fear and excitement. "Have you given much thought as to our destination today?"

"Some," was Harrison's only reply. His thoughts recalled the location in his dream. The image and path to it were vivid in his mind's eye.

"I was thinking perhaps about heading East across the slopes. I think there might be a…"

Suddenly Harrison stopped. The directions Alfred churned out of his mouth struck a chord. Every detail seemed exactly like the one from his dream. "…a vertical slope?"

"What did you say?" Alfred said, bewildered.

"You are describing in vivid detail something I saw in my dreams."

"But that's…"

"Impossible? Yes, it is isn't it?" Harrison continued on his way without waiting for his assistant. He entered the mess tent and was greeted with a little warmth from a small fire they had set up inside. A small table with a few chairs was the only decoration. Seated in each chair was one of Harrison's colleagues. Crosby was the first to speak.

"Ah, Thatcher, about time you woke up. Pleasant dreams?" he asked the question with a sarcastic tone.

"Not really." He answered simply.

The others laughed as if he had made some kind of joke. Harrison swore inwardly that his blood was beginning to boil. He hated these men. Allowing them to accompany him on this expedition began to feel more and more like a mistake with each passing moment. A rush of cold air blew in as Alfred entered the tent. Harrison did not dally; he walked over to serve himself some soup from the pot that hung above the fire. He did not have to look back to the table to know that there was no chair for him. His dislike for them was common knowledge. None of them would offer their seat, and he would not ridicule himself by asking. Standing helped with the digestion he told himself. He stood himself by the pot and quietly sipped his soup.

"Have you told them?" Alfred asked.

Ever impetuous, Harrison was again bothered. He had not wanted to tell the others. However he already suspected they had had similar experiences.

"Told us what?" Richards came forth.

"Nothing of consequence. Just that I've decided what our new direction should be."

"And when did you plan to tell us," Stromm asked.

"I suspect from the grins on all your faces, you already know."

"They do?" Alfred continued with his bewildered expression. Harrison began to rethink his opinion on his intelligence.

"I suspect that each of us has had the same or at least similar dream. We all saw ourselves marching on a particular path, reaching an ice wall, and breaking through to the cave hidden beyond. Finally I assumed you were all…" Harrison paused to try and think of an appropriate word, but his vocabulary failed him. "…assailed as was I."

Stromm was an older man and showed a little embarrassment at the thought of the images that had filled his dreams last night. He was once a married man now widowed. It shamed him to think how quickly he gave into the temptuous voices that called to him. Crosby on the other hand had no such recriminations. "Oh come now Thatcher, it couldn't have been all that bad."

Harrison suddenly felt uneasy. He hated feeling uneasy. He tried to keep his composure. "So I am correct?" The silence that followed was his answer.

Alfred as usual was quick with the obvious and therefore stupid question. "How did this happen? What does it mean?"

The young man's stupidity was a boost to Harrison. "There have been scant phenomena of groups of confined or close quarter people sharing dreams. This could be such a case. Therefore any talk of the source is inconsequential. The images and thoughts were collective and therefore have no source. That is one theory."

"You have another?" queried Crosby.

"Yes. The other possibility is that there are forces at work which are at the moment beyond our comprehension."

"For the moment?" Richards chimed in.

"I say that because if that theory is accurate, then we should travel to the place we saw and confront it. There we will find out answer. If it is a case of collective dreaming, then there will be nothing. If we find something, anything, then by default we have our answer." Harrison paused. "Are we in agreement?"

The various head nodded, except for Alfred. Nothing was made of his lack of agreement. It was assumed that even if he hadn't nodded, he would side with the majority.

"Very well, then make ready your supplies, and let us follow our dreams, so to speak."

The next several hours was an experience in déjà vu for the group. As they trudged through the rising levels of snow, they were amazed at how accurate their vision had been. Every turn and every slope was exactly realized. All of them were excited except for the pair of unfortunate guides/servants that they had hired. They refused to reveal whether or not they had shared the dram as well. They were far too occupied with the ominous implications of a shared vision. For them it meant impending doom. They wanted nothing to do with that. Harrison threatened to throw them off the cliff if they did not adhere to the contract that they had agreed to. That put them in line, however it did not quiet them.

"He's a little on edge," Alfred thought to himself. "That could prove dangerous." The thought of the great Harrison Thatcher becoming unhinged was a scary thought indeed. He had always been so calm under the greatest pressure. It was unnerving to see him preoccupied. It was so out of the ordinary to for the man who usually could not be bothered by the worries of others. Alfred knew that Harrison had an ego. He knew that he thought that everyone, including himself, seemed beneath him. Nevertheless, Alfred felt that the man was destined for greatness. That was the only reason he followed him on this insane expedition. Spring boarding from the successful finds of Dr. Wilfred Glendon of fauna unique to arctic areas, his fate cast a black cloud over future expeditions.

"The storm is getting stronger! We'll freeze!" Richards exclaimed over the howling weather.

"It's all right, look!" Harrison answered. His finger pointed towards their destination, just barely in sight. Just a short while more and they arrived at the vertical rise, which formed a dead end on the side of the mountain. Under normal circumstances there would be no way to go but up or back the way they came. However just like in the dream, Harrison jabbed at the wall with his pick and revealed that it was in fact a sheet of ice. He placed his hand against it.

"It's warm." Looking to the servants, "you two, make an entry for us."

The two began to shake their heads. Speaking brokenly in their own tongues, the only thing that was clear was, "no, no!"

"Damn you, I said work!" The yelling was to no avail. They continued to refuse. "Do you want to freeze to death, its warm beyond this!" But the men just turned and walked back the way they came.

"Can you believe it? The fools have signed their own death warrants," Crosby added.

"Or we have." Stromm said quietly. Everyone heard him though and stared at him. "This isn't right. Something's wrong."

"Oh shut up, Stromm." Crosby picked up an axe and began to chop at the ice.

Here reality differed from the dream. It took the work of them all to open an entry way. Death seemed to loom over them as temperatures became worse and they began to move slower. Stromm was the first to fall. Their worked ultimately paid off. They managed to make a relatively small opening through which they could all squeeze through.

All of them felt a rush of relief as the heat that lay beyond refreshed them. Richards managed to drag Stromm inside and laid him on the ground. The heat quickly reanimated him. Immediately beyond ice sheet was the entrance of what seemed to be a cavern that went deep into the mountainside. A faint phosphorescent light allowed them to see enough to strike a match and make some torches. Once lit, the group saw a strange growth on the walls of the cave. Harrison inspected it closely.

"What is it?" Crosby asked.

"If I am not mistaken, it seems to be some kind of plant growth. How it managed to get here will prove an interesting story. Also the size, look at how it seems to cover such a large part of the wall. The root seems to come from within the cave."

"What about this heat? How could there be such a stable climate here, surrounded by such sub-zero temperatures?" Richard queried.

Harrison jumped in with an answer before anyone. "Obviously there needs to be some kind of heat source. A massive one at that, to be able to maintain this temperature."

"What do you think that heat source could be?" Alfred asked.

Harrison, quite content to listen to the sound of his own voice was about to answer, but was interrupted.

"Come to us." A voice said. The sound was soft, it seemed to ride on a current wind.

"What the devil was that?" Stromm said anxiously.

"The answer to all our questions," Harrison said before heading off deeper into the cave. As always, he did not wait for anyone. The others needed no hint; they quickly rose up to follow his lead. Stromm was the only one that struggled to keep pace. The group paced through the dark tunnel until it finally opened into a large cavern. The sight that greeted their eyes was both amazing and horrifying. Their faces were in awe of their own discovery.

"Come to us. Be with us." The voice became a chorus and chanted.

Harrison saw as his teammates were taken away from his side. He did not care; he merely remained where he stood. All the nightmarish visions that he had seen in his dreams were nothing more than that. The landscape before him was paradise, his own personal Eden. Nothing could ruin this moment, not even the bellows and screams of his colleagues as they died.

Note:

1 Ice axes were first invented in the mid 1800s and sometimes called piolets.


	2. A Helping Hand

2. A helping hand 

Three months later…

Parents always marvel at the imagination of a child. In a child's eye tree branches become swords, bed sheets become royal robes, and lizards turn into monsters to be hunted. A child's mind can just as easily turn their bedroom into a castle as they can make their lawn in fairy tale land. Unfortunately, as the children grow older their imaginations pass with time. Some manage to hold on to it, most cannot. It was this ability to envision the world around you differently that Henry Oldrey tried to harness within his young protégé. The dark haired girl which stood before him would snap at him should she know that he thought of her as a 'girl.' She was now a spry young adult. In his eyes however, she was still just a little girl. But she had come a long way for just a 'girl.' Currently Henry observed the manner in which she held a large white crystal between the palms of her hands. A single beam of light shot out of the crystal and broke into various individual beams. The distinct beams then formed a diamond shape which framed a around a black void which hovered above the floor.

"Focus, Carrie. Picture it exactly how you remember it," he said encouragingly.

The young Carrie Fernandez remained still, eyes closed, and arms outstretched with the white crystal. When first Henry had begun this lesson, he recalled how her frustration would show on her face. Now she was calm and performed the required task effortlessly. The black void began to disperse as if a cloud of smoke, underneath revealing the image of a bedroom.

"Excellent," Henry exclaimed clapping his hands. Indeed she had come a long way, he thought. When they first met, she was but a young girl filled with anger and confusion. She had lost her family when she was still a babe. Then tragedy struck her twice when her foster mother was also murdered. The shock and rage, which encapsulated her, was enough to bring her abilities out of dormancy. She was a mystic by blood. Her bloodline could be traced to some of the great magic users of the previous age. With proper training, she could become the greatest of them all. Her adventure through the castle of the vampire lord Dracula had been a great start. Under instructions of her current guardian, Reinhardt Schneider, he took up instructing her in all things magical that he knew himself. This was of course only one part of her education. Reinhardt's wife insisted that she also receive a 'normal' education and so she also attended 'normal' school.

"Piece of cake," she said with pride. The beams from the crystal dispersed but the portal, which she had created, remained. Walking towards it, Carrie motioned with a hand toward the vortex, "After you."

Henry had been seated in an old rocking chair. After getting up he found that cobwebs had become attached to his jacket. The attic in which they stood was filled with other such webs. They attached themselves to the various disused items that littered the place. The attic was filled with once prized possessions that eventually became either outdated or too spacious thus joined all the other relics that were kept there. After dusting himself off, Henry took Carrie's invitation and stepped into the portal. Human eyes were incapable of perceiving any movement or sense of travel as he passed from one room to the next. From his point of view he just stepped through a doorway. As soon as he turned around, he caught Carrie also stepping through and the portal closing behind her.

"Excellent." Henry repeated. He then took the white crystal from Carrie's palm. "In time, you won't need the mystical properties of the crystal to create a portal. Traveling from place to place will be possible by a combination of sheer force of will, visualizations, and the odd spell or two."

"You mean, poof?"

Henry laughed. "Yes, poof!"

The flash of light, which Rosa saw in the corner of her eye, told her that Henry had finished his lesson. She turned anyway and peered upwards at the window of Carrie's bedroom that was on the second floor of their home. She saw Carrie come to the window and wave happily. How she knew that she was looking up at this very moment, Rosa had no idea. But it elated her to see Carrie happy. Their first year together had been difficult for everyone. Events happened so fast. She had no one to stay with, and Reinhardt did not want to put her in an orphanage. The events at the castle had bonded them together, although Carrie did not want to acknowledge it yet. She had lost too many loved ones. She was afraid to allow herself to become attached again. The uncertain future that was before all four of them did not help either. She knew that she felt something for Reinhardt, however love needed to time to grow. But Carrie needed a family's support as soon as possible. That is where Henry came in. Having been orphaned himself, he took on the brotherly role easily. Being a stable force for Carrie during those early days was something that she and Reinhardt were eternally grateful to him for. Carrie took to Henry very quickly, so quickly that when she and Reinhardt were married, Carrie was apprehensive about being adopted. She disappeared in the middle of the night. Luckily they knew exactly where she would be going, to the grave of her foster mother. The visit to her grave seemed to give her a sense of closure, Rosa thought. Afterwards she opened up, slowly but surely. She accepted Reinhardt and herself as her guardians.

Rosa's attachment to the child had been instant. She had told Reinhardt that even if they never had a child of their own, she was happy with Carrie. Her biggest regret was that she had missed so many years of her growing up. While Reinhardt insisted that she be trained in the mystic arts that were her birthright, it was Rosa's edict that she should study the humanities. She felt that it was important to ground her in the real world in as much as the supernatural. Her education would be the best of both worlds. She also made sure that her education was not limited to such things as only "befitting a lady." Skills such as sewing and cooking were not the beginning or the end of Carrie's world. Her's would be a much bigger one.

She was well versed in the ways of escaping the traditional trappings of "womanhood." When she was young she was never content with being just like her mother. She took to being interested in worldly things. Her fascination with planets, for example, was looked down upon as being too unladylike. Something about getting her hands dirty…

"You won't find a good husband if you've got dirt under your nails!" She could still hear her mother, plain as day. Little did she know that her future husband would end up with a lot more than dirt under his nails. But that was another subject entirely. Reinhardt may not have been the cleanest cut man she could have picked, but he was the bravest. He was strong in every sense of the word. He was also natural, primeval almost. He was not a modern man and therefore not blinded by the trapping of civilization. But he was not completely without culture. He was just something out of the past, like from L'Morte D'Arthur.

Taking a pair of empty flowerpots in her hand, Rosa exited the small green house that Reinhardt had built for her. Outside it was snowing lightly, but just enough to give the impression of winter. It was a difficult time for plants to thrive in. It was cold, not a lot of rain, and many days with very little sun. She deposited her empty pots at the top of a pile of similar ones that sat beside the rear entrance to the house. Inside the house it was warm. It was a point on contrast between Reinhardt and herself. Reinhardt preferred the chilly weather. He was use to living in the cold and damp mountains of Wallachia. Rosa on the other hand had had her fill of the cold. People sometimes use the phrase "cold blooded" to describe those that they find callous or uncaring. Rosa however had truly been cold blooded once. She once craved human blood as drink and human life for satisfaction. No, Rosa much preferred the warmth.

"Miss," called a gentle voice as she entered. Immediately beyond the rear entrance was a tight hall that ran the length of the house. One could view the front entrance standing in the rear. A flight of steps walled the left of the hall and led to second floor. The left side of the house was comprised of the kitchen area which was adjacent the dining room. The right side was made up of the sitting room followed by Reinhardt's study. Immediately beside the rear entrance was an access to the kitchen. There a brunette young woman dressed in a simple black dress waited while holding something in her hand. It was Ann, Rosa's only servant.

Many employers required their servants to dress in uniform. Rosa did not believe in such nonsense. Those black and white maid dresses with frills and hats were ridiculous. They were merely social markers. Something meant to scream to society that one was not worth more than their skills at sweeping the floor and dusting. Rosa had worked before in a servant capacity. It was a revealing experience. It also meant that she did not need a staff of maids and servants. She only needed one extra hand because she could not depend upon Reinhardt to know about how to keep a house orderly. Reinhardt was many things, but he was not orderly. Consequently Rosa hired Ann keeping her full in the knowledge that keeping the house in order would in fact be a two-person job, her being the other person. They worked as a team. Many of her friends questioned her as to how she maintained the thin line between employer and employee. Rosa would merely reply, "Carefully." To that she would add that she preferred the thin line versus the wide gulf that many of her friends had between themselves and their servants.

"Miss?" she called again.

"Yes, Ann?" she answered.

"There's a man in the sitting room. He was quite insistent to see Mr. Schneider, ma'am."

"Did you tell him that he was not here?"

Ann's face could not hide her distraught. "Yes but," she paused. "I think the man is," she then gestured towards her temple. "He did not seem to understand. As if her were distracted. It was as if he were listening to someone else, ma'am. Then he just handed me this." Finally she handed to Rosa a rectangular card which she had been holding all this time. The card was originally printed on white cardstock, but something had happened that it now had a blue greenish tint. It seemed to have been soaked in something. It was to Rosa's mind, disgusting. However still legible on the front was:

Harrison Thatcher

Professor of Science1

"I say," Rosa could not hide her surprise or recognition of the name. She was familiar with the work and writings of the scientist with a focus on botany. He was very well respected and it came with a certain surprise that his card and his manners as described by Ann should be so, unprofessional. More to the point, Rosa was expecting to attend a lecture he was to hold as a fundraiser for the Botanical Society of London.

"I will see him," Rosa simply said before passing Ann and heading for the sitting room. The entrance to the room was a pair of sliding doors that parted smoothly and closed again silently behind Rosa. She glimpsed Thatcher immediately as he stood in one corner with his back to her. He made no motion to indicate that he was aware of her presence.

"Mr. Thatcher?" she called to him. He gave no sign of response. Rosa took small and cautious steps forward. The man was dressed in what must have been a very fine suit. However it was now discolored and stained, possibly with the same substance as his card. It was wrinkled as though slept in. Thatcher was a young man with a full set hair, which was disheveled as though it had not been washed and combed in days. The stench that began to enter Rosa's nose was also a clear indicator of the reputed man of science's current hygiene. However none it prepared Rosa for what she beheld as the man finally turned to face her. She had to hold back her shock as she gazed upon an essentially ruined face. His skin complexion was one of a person who had been exposed to too much sun. The lines that filled his face were not from age but from dryness. It looked as if at any moment he would make some facial gesture and his skin would break apart. His eyes did not look at her but seemingly avoided her as it examined everything else. When he spoke, she was almost unsure if he was speaking to her as he appeared to be drawn to something elusive and visible only to him.

"Where is Reinhardt Schneider?"

"He is not here. He is away on business. I am his wife, Rosa. Might I be able to help you?"

The man's face became a portrait of anger and frustration and he raised one hand in the air. Rosa made no move but only watched to see what his intentions were. His fist came down hard and fast upon a small box that he cradled in his other arm. The ferocity with which he struck the box was at odds with the careful manner in which he held it.

His eyes finally locked with Rosa, "no! I must speak with him!"

He was almost yelling now. Rosa raised her voice in turn. "He is not here! You will need to deal with me. Now what is it you want of my husband?"

Thatcher raised his fist once more and Rosa braced herself, but again he struck the box. He was obviously a tall man, but he was hunched forward. Rosa's negative answer caused him to hunch even further down. She saw in him only a pathetic creature, not the famed botanist. What could have caused such a change in the man, Rosa wondered? She had never met the man before, but surely he could not have attained the level of notoriety he had in this condition.

"Mr. Thatcher, you seem like you need help, or why else would you seek out my husband? He is not here, but I am not without my own resources. If you need help, I can assist you. But you must tell me what is wrong."

"Woman! You can do nothing! Pretty little useless nothing, woman! That's what you are!" Thatcher then let out a loud scream and stormed out of the room pushing Henry who was on his way in.

"What's going on here? Who screamed?" Henry asked perplexed. He turned and watched Thatcher as he slammed the door open and exited through it. Thoroughly bothered, he chased after him to the doorway and yelled after him. "Ruffian, how dare you slam our door! I ought to follow you home and see how you like it!"

After closing the door, Henry returned to the sitting room to find Carrie sitting beside Rosa on the sofa. "Whom was I just yelling at?"

Carrie offered the exposition, "Harrison Thatcher, Professor of Science."

"Who is…?"

"He's an authority on botany." She countered.

"Why was he…?"

"He came to see Reinhardt."

"Is he always like that?"

Carrie looked to Rosa before answering. "We don't know."

"You all right?" Henry asked gesturing toward Rosa.

Rosa nodded. "I'm just surprised. I've read the man's work before. He has a reputation; his name is constantly dropped at the society. Never have I heard that he was irrational or rude as that." She paused. "Well perhaps someone said he could be rude, but nothing like this. No, there is something wrong with him. Some kind of sickness, maybe." She then recalled what she held in her hand and offered the small card to Henry. "Look at this. The card is dipped in something. He seemed dipped in it as well."

Henry took the card and examined it. "Seems organic, like tree grease. Something more in your line."

Rosa smiled. "Tree grease?"

"Well I don't know the technical term. You're the botanist here."

"Yes, but I don't recognize it."

"What are you going to do?" Carrie interjected.

"Thatcher is supposed to give a lecture later today at a fund raiser. I'm going to go see Deborah Foster; she is orchestrating the event. She should be warned about Thatcher. If he shows up in that condition, it could be disastrous for the society."

"Do you want us to do anything," Carrie asked, unable to hide her enthusiasm.

Rosa smiled once more. "No young lady. You stay here." Then looking to Henry, "you make sure she doesn't get into any trouble."

"Have I ever let you down?"

Rosa grinned and left the question unanswered, which in reality answered it.

The next hour was spent preparing for the fundraiser. Rosa donned one of her favorite red colored elegant dresses. The color red still figured powerfully in her mind. Even after her 'experiences' in Wallachia, she was unable to shake her affinity for the shade. It sometimes troubled Reinhardt who preferred her to wear something else, but then she would ask him to take off that red scarf around his neck and the conversation was over. His scarf was an old family heirloom. Not like the whip, but something more personal. It caught her eye as she sifted through the closet. She had not realized that he had left it. He knew it would be a long journey. His travels would take him to many colds places, she wondered why he did not take it? Perhaps he thought…? No, she would not think that way. Reinhardt would have told her if this journey he undertook was anything more than a simple hunt.

Simple hunt? Could there be such a thing? How strange not to find hunting supernatural beings strange. How strange to find the unusual commonplace. How strange to be without her husband. She missed him terribly. Rosa had been fully aware of what their marriage would be like. He had responsibilities. Although he had defeated his family's timeless enemy, it was only the harbinger of endless battles. Without one place for evil to congregate, it would spread all over the world. Only someone like Reinhardt could defeat its various incarnations and keep the rest of the world safe. It was a thankless job, but his ancestors had been doing it for over one hundred years.

It was her job to wait patiently for his return.

"Lord, please bring him home," she prayed silently as she held his prized scarf in her hands. Finally she decided she would honor him by wearing it to the fund raiser. It would help her keep him in her thoughts. Rosa descended the steps from the bedroom where at the bottom Carrie, Henry, and Ann awaited her.

"Are you sure you don't want me along? In case he becomes violent?" Henry proffered.

"My dear Henry, I need not remind you of my condition when Reinhardt and I first met? Or that one of our earliest encounters was at the point of a sword? I am not a damsel to be rescued."

Rosa was not concerned about her own safety. She held firm to her convictions that she would be able to handle herself. However one question sprang continuously in her mind.

What was in that box that Thatcher so shielded in his arms?

1 Because of an old stigma and de-value of the title dating back to the 17th century, holders of Master's degrees sometimes adopted the title of 'Professor.'


	3. Inside Out

3. Inside out 

The home of the Botanical Society of London was a sizeable estate. It was formerly a zoo whose expansive garden quickly became the main attraction. When the cost of maintaining the animals became too great, the society managed to purchase the buildings and its surrounding grounds. The central building was designed like a museum, with various chambers with themed displays of a variety of fauna. The posterior of the building branched into two other structures. One branch led to work rooms and nurseries. The second branch led to a large dome structure, which housed the society's "jungle." It was an experiment in creating a self-contained eco-system and was home to dozens of rare species.

Rosa arrived promptly before the evening's fanfare had begun. Attendants were still arriving and lining up by the entrance to pay. The long line was a good sign, Rosa reflected. The society had bought the property hoping that opening the location as an attraction would generate funds. However the place seemed fiscally unmanageable. They were in debt and depended on this fundraiser to breakeven at the least.

A green carpet lined the walkway that led to the Romanesque entrance of the main building. Rosa passed the large columns that lined the entrance and saw the extent of the decorating which the society had put forth. The normally dry exhibitions were now cleverly adorned with ribbons and wreaths. Each exhibit also had a sign announcing what was within. Previously the whole place was rather scientific and not family friendly. If a guest wanted to know what the section they were in was dedicated to they had to read the lengthy notes that were fixed to the displays. The notes normally read like dissertations. A simple question like "where are the Roses?" would generate a scornful or agitated look upon an ushers face. The prompt reply would be, "That's really depends on what class, order, and family you're looking for…"

Thankfully on this day when so many people who were not quite so scientific in their backgrounds, could now easily find a sign marked:

THE ROSE GARDEN

Rosa did indeed enter the section. It was located nearby the exit that led to the rear branching hallway. Briefly she glimpsed at the first few bushes of roses and was impressed at the variety of colors. White, pink, yellow, and red filled the square chamber. The flowers were planted in raised plots that lined the walls of the chamber. Each plot was dedicated to a single color and was about five feet in length and width. Rosa wondered how the gardeners reached the back of the plots without trampling the roses in the front.

"What are you doing here?" a voice cut through Rosa's thoughts. She turned and found a woman about twenty years her senior. Her skin complexion gave away the many hours spent in the sun toiling away at plants such as those that surrounded them. The woman's face was for a moment apprehensive but quickly shifted to one of pleasant surprise.

"Rosa," Deborah Foster exclaimed. "You're here, how delightful." She was smiling now.

"I couldn't miss this of course."

Deborah took Rosa by the arm and led her out of the exhibit. "I'm sorry about the way I called to you just now. It's just that we had a break in through that section last night."

"A break in, was something stolen?"

"Not that we've noticed so far. But with all the preparations for the fundraiser, who can tell? What a horrid time for such a thing to happen. I think my hair is falling out, can you see it?"

Rosa attempted to be serious as she inspected Deborah's scalp, which she proffered.

"It looks fine, Deborah."

"My nerves are on end. I'm ready for a breakdown. Oh! Come here, let me introduce you," Deborah exclaimed as she now dragged Rosa by the arm. The two waded through the growing crowds of people who were now inside the building. Their course ended as they approached a group of women circling a single man. He was tall and towered over his onlookers. His face was rugged, as though he had seen many a day's work, but retained a handsome quality. His hair was fiery red with a few slivers of white on his sides. He was clean-shaven and showing off a fine set of teeth as he smiled at the gaping club of women that surrounded him. Rosa found the sight revolting. Particularly when she noted that many of the women were married and were in no way subtle in their swooning.

"Deborah, why are we here?" Rosa queried quietly.

She did not seem to hear her question but proceeded break through the wall of females. "Mr. Graves?" Deborah called out.

The tall red haired man turned to the call of his name. The already wide smile on his face inexplicably widened as he caught Rosa's gaze.

"Is this her?" he spoke in a refined yet firm tone.

Deborah's response was a gleeful nod. "Rosa this is…"

"Ian Graves," he cut her off. Graves proceeded to take Rosa's hand as he bowed. "The Lady Rose," he asserted.

"Rosa. My name is Rosa."

"Ah, but when I think of a Rose, I shall think only of Rosa, so why not, the Lady Rose?"

Some of the ladies began to giggle, others Rosa noted, sighed with a not so subtle hint of jealousy. Deborah was grinning ear to ear. Rosa meanwhile prayed that the Earth would break open and swallow this man. The man was a playboy, and she did not like to mingle in such company. Putting on her most correct face, Rosa allowed herself a mild smirk as she spoke.

"It was…nice…to meet you. Good day." She then quickly tugged at Deborah dragging her away from the group. Graves however followed.

"I have been so wanting to meet you…and your husband. I've heard so much about him."

"I'm so sorry he won't be here. He is away on business."

"Yes, I'm sure. Fascinating work it must be…"

Rosa glared at him. She didn't like his tone. There was a hint of double entendres, but not the kind he was exchanging with the other 'ladies.'

"…to leave such a gem behind," he finished.

"Let me guess. Next you are going to say that 'gems have been known to be stolen.' Well let me tell you, Mr. Graves. Some gems carry with them a curse. A curse that can result in a very bad end. Wary to the thief."

A slap, a drink, and quite possibly a punch to the face could not swipe away the delight in Graves face. Rosa was truly beginning to worry now.

"My Lady Rose, you ARE a romantic." The chuckle that followed Graves as he turned and walked away twisted Rosa's stomach. She felt the sudden urge to use Reinhardt's scarf to strangle the insufferable man. "Be seeing you," he called out.

"In hell…" Rosa whispered but not low enough to escape Deborah's ear.

"Rosa, that man is one of the society's biggest benefactors."

"Ah," Rosa breathed. "So that's what that was about."

Deborah feigned ignorance. "I don't know. He just wanted to meet you that is all. You shouldn't be too fussy. Half the married women circling him would kill their husbands just to be in 'mourning' in his arms."

"Revolting…"

"Money."

"Prosti…"

"Quiet you. You should be grateful that such a man even takes an interest in you," Deborah said laughingly.

Rosa grimaced trying to hide her irritation. "Now exactly what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh dear, you and I have been friends for years, but your standing isn't what it use to be. Marrying a foreigner and a Catholic? Deary, their lot may have been emancipated, but lots of people remember the tithe war1."

"I married for love, is that so wrong?"

"Of course not. But people don't see that. If talk gets around all they will see is a woman who's turned to recusancy."

"If talk gets around, it'll be from you, Deborah."

Deborah began to wave her arms as if she were physically changing the subject, "didn't you have something to tell me?"

Rosa put her arm around Deborah hoping to relax her, however it had the opposite effect. She could feel her already tense shoulders tighten almost inhumanly. "It's a bit of bad news, probably."

"Probably?"

"Harrison Thatcher stopped by my home earlier today. He did not look good. In fact he seemed…sick."

"Oh Lord," Deborah began to hold her head in her hands. "How so?"

"He was distracted, erratic, and well…dirty."

"Dirty?"

"Yes, as if he hadn't gotten a decent set of clothes in weeks."

"Oh no, this could be disastrous." Deborah slapped her own head. "This explains why he isn't here? But wait, I received a telegram from the hotel, confirming that he checked in!"

"But has he telegrammed?"

"No. But I'll tell you what I'm going to do. If that man thinks he's going to stay in that hotel for free while this society goes down in flames, he will hear from me! The society is paying for his accommodations and it is quite an expense."

"You're going?"

Deborah nodded her head and began to walk briskly in the direction of the entrance. Rosa stuck close by her side. "I'll go with you, if you don't mind."

"Not at all dear, we'll take one of the cabs that are parked in front."

At seven in the evening there was very little traffic so the cab glided through the streets of London relatively unperturbed. In no time at all Rosa and Deborah were striding through the halls of the Longham Hotel, the largest in London. The society having paid for the room, Deborah knew that Thatcher was staying in room 16. As Rosa followed her companion she was instantly struck by the strong and repugnant smell, which she had sensed at her earlier encounter with Thatcher. They passed several hotel guests standing in their doorways shouting complaints at one of the maids.

"What's this stink?"

"Have you no idea what I'm paying?"

"Don't you people clean?"

The lowly maid tried her best to calm the guests, but to no avail. Rosa surmised that her 'status' as a maid did not help either. These were the kind of people that would not be satisfied until the manager had come in person to apologize. These people were just venting their frustrations.

"I'm sorry, we're doing our best to find out the problem," the maid said in reply to her various persecutors.

"Just use your nose, girl!" shouted one man.

"Excuse me, if your olfactory capabilities are as advanced as your salary, why don't you find the problem," Rosa said defiantly. The man remained silent. "Nothing to say?" Rosa proceeded to take the maid by the arm. "Come with us, I think we know where the problem is."

Deborah looked at Rosa quizzically, "we do? Oh dear."

The three of them had to cover their faces as they approached the door to number 16. Deborah knocked before trying the door.

"Harrison, it's Deborah, are you in there?"

There was no reply. She tried again, repeatedly but the room was silent. Deborah shot Rosa a concerned glare that was returned. Rosa's face however was not laced with fear as Deborah's. She took the maid's hand and gestured for her to unlock the door. After she had done so Rosa motioned for Deborah to stay back.

The door creaked open slowly as though something were hindering its movement. As Rosa entered the room the stench became noticeably more intense. She found herself almost dizzy from it. Aside from the smell, Rosa was instantly taken aback by what she saw. As her feet took steps forward they were not greeted by the most expensive floor in London, but a slim layer of soggy material, which made a squishing sound as she stepped on it. The walls were now tinted green with the wallpaper being forced off by what appeared to be thick greenish veins sprouting from within. Furniture was buried underneath equally thick growth of the same kind. Upon closer inspection the veins were in fact roots twice the size of any plant's she had seen. Combined with the peculiar vegetation which seemingly grew upwards from the under the floorboards, the room was now a small jungle. Rosa walked toward the far end of the room with a window to the street. She caught a glimpse of a desk and a figure seated in a chair. She recalled her confident speech to Henry as she walked around to face the figure in the chair. The sight that beheld her chilled her to the bones.

Although he was covered by the strange plant life, which now flourished in the room, Harrison Thatcher's face was still recognizable. However that was all that could be discerned as being his remains. The roots that stalked the room all found their beginnings within Harrison's chest cavity. He looked as if he had exploded from within. A singular black flower sprouted from within his agape mouth.

"Oh my…" Deborah exclaimed as she countered Rosa's instructions to remain behind. She then followed her shock with a piercing scream at the sight of Thatcher's corpse. Rosa rushed forward to catch her as she fainted and fell to the ground.

Looking back at Thatcher's remains Rosa saw how Thatcher's eyes still held that detached gaze as if he were still looking at something visible only to him.

1 After the establishment of the Anglican Church, Catholics were restricted in many ways until their emancipation in 1829. The tithe war occurred in the 1830s as retaliation by Irish Catholics against having to pay a tithe due to the Anglican Church.


	4. Inquiries and Clues

4. Inquiries and clues 

Deborah's scream drew the attention of all the despondent guests who promptly either joined in a chorus of further cries or followed Deborah's example and fainted. Police presence was prompt to the scene and Rosa soon found herself being questioned by an Inspector Sadler. Sadler wore an overcoat that was several sizes too big for his thin frame. The already horrid stench in the room was made worse by the fuming pipe in his mouth that inexplicably moved in circles as he spoke. Once he could have had a full set of blonde hair but it was thinning now revealing a pale baldhead. His rather sad appearance reminded Rosa of Thatcher when he visited her earlier. At the moment the only difference between Harrison Thatcher and Sadler that Rosa could discern was a pulse.

"And you have no idea what he wanted to speak about with your husband?" Sadler's voice was grave however distorted by the wooden object twiddling in his mouth.

"No. He did not say," was Rosa's only reply.

"Could you explain again where you husband is, miss?"

"He is away on business. He travels. I never know until he writes, and by then he has probably moved on. He does however always leave a forwarding address. Will you be requiring it?"

"Perhaps, not now. For the time being I think we can leave him out of it. However when he returns, I may want to hear his explanation for…this," Sadler then spread his arms out gesturing to their macabre surroundings. "I've heard stories about your husband, miss. While I would hate to think that a man would involve his wife in such…matters, I must know, do you know what happened here?"

Rosa stood up from the chair which had been brought for her and which she had been seated in. She approached the now rotting corpse of Harrison Thatcher. Lack of moisture had led the protruding plant life to slowly dry up. She noted that there wasn't a drop of blood within Thatcher's cadaver. Pricking the surface of one of the large roots confirmed Rosa's fears. Prodding it with a hairpin, the root began to bleed.

"I think there was a gas leak. That explains the smell. The man staying died from the fumes. Then there was an unfortunate fire. There was nothing left." Rosa turned and faced Sadler. Her gaze was met with a distinct nod.

"I see. Can you promise me that this won't happen again?"

"No, I can't. I can only pray just like you." Her gaze returned to Thatcher and then glossed over the nearby desk, which was now partially accessible because the drying roots. A small piece of paper caught her attention so she palmed it.

"Leave the body here for two hours. I'm going to send someone to examine it. Once he is gone, burn it."

"I say, who is going to explain this to the hotel manager?"

"You are, because you don't want me to explain this, you really don't. You just want to know that it isn't going to happen again. That is what I am going to find out." Rosa then revealed to him the card which she picked had picked up.

BAGGAGE CLAIM TICKET

Rosa strode out of the room and found Deborah seated outside. An officer had remained with her after taking her statement. The glass of water she held in her hands trembled. Rosa knew what Thatcher had meant for the society. He was to be their savior. His renown and his new studies would have legitimized the society. Now that was in ruins. Rosa's heart truly went out to Deborah because she knew the hard work she had put forth.

"Come, I'll take you home," she said as she placed a consoling hand on her shoulder.

Deborah nodded but she could not break a smile.

The trip to Deborah's home was a silent one. After all there was nothing to say. Deborah's spirit was broken and could not bear to return to the disaster that the fundraiser had surely become. Hundreds of potential beneficiaries stood up by the main attraction that was now dead. In her current state Deborah could not face the public. Rosa thought that the silence would do her good, however she did ask her one thing just as they were pulling up to her home.

"What was Thatcher going to present to the society?"

Deborah's face was as monotone as her reply. "He went to the Himalayas. He had theory about finding a type of rare species of plant. We thought it would…" Deborah began to break down so Rosa stopped her. Gently she helped her down from the cab and was ready to walk her to the front door, but Deborah's hand halted her. Rosa watched her disappear into her home. She stood there for a moment wanting to see the lights come on, but they never did. Eventually she asked the cab to take her home.

Questions greeted Rosa from the moment she stepped back into her home. Mostly they were from Henry. He was shocked to hear of the Thatcher's death. He was even more shocked in the manner in which he had died.

"The police are going to dispose of the body in about an hour and a half. I want you to get back there and have a look for yourself at the body," she instructed him.

"What are you going to do?"

"I found this ticket in Thatcher's room. He didn't claim all of his baggage when he arrived by train. There might be some clue as to what might have caused his death."

"Are you thinking he was ill?"

"I'm hoping."

"What if he wasn't," Carrie chimed in.

"I'd rather not think of the possibilities, Carrie." Henry left the two women and rushed upstairs. "Do you want to come with me to the station or go with Henry?"

Carrie mused on the question for several moments. She was torn between accompanying her surrogate mother and her curiosity to see the dead body. The way Rosa had described it had been very vivid. It seemed like an incredible chance to pass up. Though she had seen her fair share of fantastical sights, she was always keen to see more. For Carrie the incredible and the fantastic were in her veins. Rosa saw the conflict in her daughter. She knew this would happen and was amused to see it. Or perhaps she just wanted to confirm that it would be a difficult choice? Either way Rosa relieved her of the anxiety.

"Go with Henry. Keep him safe. He sometimes gets carried away."

"I do not," Henry retorted as he came down the steps. In his hands he carried two large suitcases. "Here Carrie, be a dear and take one of these."

Carrie stared blankly at the two over sized cases.

"Have to take the right tools for the job at hand." He said cheerily.

"And where was all this when you went off into Dracula's castle?"

Henry dropped one of the cases before her, "that's the spirit." Then he looked to Rosa. "You be careful now. Anything happens to you and Reinhardt will…well let's just say I'd rather go face Dracula."

Rosa took a separate cab from the one Henry and Carrie took to the hotel. They arrived there with still an hour before the police were going to dispose of the remains. As they were about to enter Henry pulled Carrie to one side and opened the hotel entrance for a young woman who was also entering. Henry and the woman exchanged smiles and greetings. Carrie then elbowed Henry's side. "Your chivalry is showing."

"Thanks for the warning," he winked back.

Two burly policemen stood guarding the entrance to the hallway. Apparently all the guests in the hall had been moved out. The smell, which Rosa had mentioned to them, still hung in the air. The officers looked at Henry and Carrie with suspicious eyes, especially Carrie. What was a young girl doing here, the two wondered?

"We still have an hour I believe, according to Inspector Sadler," Henry stated simply.

"You're it?" asked one of the guards.

"You're not taking her in are you?" asked the other.

"Well you see," Henry said before motioning them to come closer so he could whisper. "She's the real expert…"

The two officers exchanges glances of surprise and alarm but eventually let them pass. As they passed, Carrie pointed out to Henry the series of cans that were lining the wall leading up to the hotel room. The two officers were aptly prepared for their assignment. The smell of gas mixed with the foreign scent emanating from Thatcher combined into an appalling new mixture.

Although Rosa had described to them in detail what the room was like, there is nothing like seeing with ones own eyes. Both Henry and Carrie were horrified by the sight of the massive roots grasping at the walls and ceiling of the hotel room. The source of the tentacle like growths was the now rotting corpse of Harrison Thatcher. He was still seated at his desk chair.

"Ghastly…" was Carrie's only remark.

"Interesting," Henry countered. "He's not facing his desk."

"What does that mean?"

"Something, or nothing. Use that analytical mind of yours."

Carrie approached the body for a closer examination. "Well if there were not huge roots growing from his insides, I would think that perhaps he was talking to someone. You think he was murdered?"

Henry was now hunched over his open suitcase. He pulled from within its recesses the white crystal. "There is one way to find out. The human eye sometimes stores information. After death you can sometimes glimpse at a reflection of what the person saw at the moment of death."

"You're serious? I thought that was just a myth."

Henry patted Carrie on the head, something that ritually made Carrie angry. "My dear Carrie, do not forget that you and I deal with myth as if they were fact every day."

"I know. I but that seems so…absurd."

"Well you'll believe soon enough because I will need you for this."

He then positioned her standing right beside Thatcher's corpse and motioned her to stand straight and still. He then took one of her hands and lifted it while outstretching her arm. Finally he placed the crystal in the palm of the same hand. He moved on to her other hand, the one closest to Thatcher. He lifted it gently had hovered it above one of Thatcher's eyes.

"Try not squeal," he said smiling before jabbing her finger into the eye. Carrie heard a squishing sound as her fingertips pressed the eyeball. Then she heard another noise that she presumed was her stomach turning. She closed her eyes and began to focus just as she has practiced on many occasions before. Within seconds beams of light launched from the crystal and formed a portal.

"Excellent," Henry exclaimed delightedly. The portal however did not produce what Henry hoped for. "This is odd. There's no image. It's just dark." He pondered on the development while pacing back and forth. Finally he let loose a loud cry. "Of course! What we are seeing is not what he was seeing, but what he was thinking about. His final thoughts."

"How much longer?" Carrie said, whose eyes had remained closed.

"Oh, just drop the crystal into the palm of his hand. Now that the connection has been made, the portal should remain stable, for a little while."

After doing as instructed, Carrie also inspected the view that the portal provided. "Look," she pointed at a light spot. "It looks like rock. Maybe this is a cave. Rosa did say he had just come back from an expedition."

'Quite possibly this is where whatever happened…happened."

"All right. Stay here, I'll have a look around. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, close the portal behind me, " Carried said confidently.

Henry looked at her grinning. "Very funny. You stay and I will have a look around. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, toss the crystal into the portal. That way I at least have a chance of getting home."

"You always have all the fun."

"Seniority," Henry mumbled before dashing over to his second suitcase. There he produced a large and heavy armored breastplate. He fitted the armor which protected his chest and shoulders, never minding that he looked quite incongruous with his modern cloths and medieval armor. Also he pulled a crucifix-adorned helmet, which he promptly fitted over his head. Finally he put on his belt with holstered gun.

"See you in ten," he said nonchalantly before passing through the portal.

"Good Luck," Carrie called out half heartedly as she watched him move out of view of the portal.

It was nine o'clock on the dot when Rosa arrived at the train station. The baggage handler was getting ready to slam his window shut when Rosa called out to him. The elderly man behind the window began to shake his head side to side.

"Sorry miss, we're closed. You can reclaim any forgotten baggage tomorrow at 7 a.m."

As fast as her high heels permitted Rosa ran to the counter. When she reached it and stood face to face with the handler she dropped the claim ticket on the counter accompanied by a handful of bills. The handler gaze jumped back and forth between Rosa and the bills. Finally he pocketed the bill and smiled.

"Right this way, miss."

She entered the storage for lost or unclaimed baggage through a side entrance that the handler opened for her. The room was not a very large one, the result being that it was very cramped. Piles upon piles of bags, boxes, and crates were stacked one on top of the other. Rosa wondered how so many people could forget or lose so much. How important are ones material things if they can truly be forgotten so easily?

"You don't look like a Harrison Thatcher," the handler called from some dark recess of the room. Rosa imagined the old man borrowing through the luggage like a gopher making an underground tunnel.

"Harrison Thatcher doesn't look like Harrison Thatcher," Rosa said aloud however not loud enough for the handler to hear.

"This is it," the man said dropping a large suitcase at her feet.

Promptly, Rosa knelt down and opened and began to rummage through its contents. The handler's expression was one of bewilderment. Rosa's on the other hand was focused on the task at hand. The case was mostly filled with various articles of clothing, a number of books, and a small black box. Her eyes widened when she saw the box. It was unlikely that it was the same box, but her hopes were raised that it might yet yield some clue. The box itself was unadorned and of a smooth surface. Inscribed on the lid was SPECIMEN. She opened the box excitedly only to find it empty. The interior was as smooth as the exterior and so clean as not to have a speck of dust. Examining the box itself, it was slightly larger than an average music box and was easily held in the palm of one's hand. Putting the box to one side, Rosa resumed her perusal of the case's contents. Once more her hopes were raised as she gripped a leather bound book labeled JOURNAL.

At once she flipped to the final pages searching for the last entry. She found it easily because it was stained similarly to the way Thatcher's card had been. The entry read in jagged clumsy handwriting:

_It has chased me far…but it will not get it back. I'm going to share it with the world. Nothing will be the same again…  
_

Carefully she turned the pages back and perused their contents. Previous entries were just as cryptic and always vaguely referring to 'it.' The previous two months worth of entries were a sad chronicle of Harrison Thatcher's journey home. At all times he seemed to be evading and hiding from some specter, some unseen pursuer. It became clear that he found something, which he hid in the black box, but never did he mention what. Rosa neared the beginning of the journal when a name caught her eye.

_Although his financial backing is appreciated, I can't help but feel that Graves has an ulterior motive. Publicly he may be known for being a patron of the arts and sciences; privately everyone knows he does not do anything if not for profit. Mark my words, whatever discoveries are made on this journey are for the world, not for his private gain._

Graves funded Thatcher's expedition? That was a telling detail. It certainly cast suspicion on Graves, but it still did not explain Thatcher's death. Was it the cause of some freak condition brought on by what he brought back from the Himalayas? Was there some greater force, this pursuer perhaps, which was able to murder him in such a grotesque fashion? Or was this simply a case of Simon Graves stealing whatever discovery made by the late Harrison Thatcher? These questions circled Rosa's mind like Bees around a honeycomb. Finally she cast them all out and focused on her greatest concern, Carrie and Henry had to be warned. If something had been hunting Thatcher, it could still conceivably be around. Rosa clung to the journal and stood up from the case.

"You can throw away the rest," she told the handler.

"But aren't you going to take Mr. Thatcher's things?"

"Harrison Thatcher is dead. His luggage was never here, do you understand?"

The elder man nodded nervously. Rosa tipped him several more bills and he seemed to recover.

Fifteen minutes had passed and Carrie was nervously tapping her feet on the hotel floorboards. Henry was late. There had been no change in the image being shown by the portal. Now Carrie worried that the portal would close. The latent energy from Thatcher's body could dissipate at any moment. Carrie was not at all familiar with the location and therefore could not reopen the portal from her own memory. She knew Henry's instructions, throw the white jewel into the portal if he didn't return on time. It was the safest thing to do and she would be completely in the right to do it. However Carrie was not accustomed to doing what is safest. Grabbing the crystal from the dead Thatcher's hand she stepped through the portal.

Instantly Carrie noted the sudden drop in temperature. It wasn't freezing; however it was colder than where she had just come from. Glancing behind she saw the portal disappear as if it had never been there. Where she was, it was very dark. Ahead she glimpsed at the speck of light she had seen while observing the portal. Light ceased to be a problem as Carrie raised her empty hand and generated an aura of light that encompassed her hand. Her surroundings became illuminated and she found herself standing in a tunnel. Walking in the direction of the light the tunnel eventually opened up into a wide and expansive cavern. Carrie was taken aback by what she found.

Where she expected to find a wasteland of stone and rock, she instead found a veritable forest. Much like the hotel room, the walls and floor of the cavern were covered in massive roots that scaled in all directions. Trees sprang up from the ground and towered to unbelievable heights. Instead of rocky ground, Carrie stepped onto moist grass. Species of plants, flowers, and trees of which Carrie had never seen before littered the place.

Her awe came to a pause when she caught sight of something shining sticking out from underneath a large bush of flowers.

"Henry!" she called out as she recognized his trademark armor. Rushing to his side she tried to stir him but to no avail. Putting down the crystal, she attempted to remove his helmet but paused after noting movement going on behind her. She turned and saw only what appeared to be an enormous flower bud. Its petals were closed but suddenly they began to stir. Carrie picked up the crystal and began to drag Henry away.

The great flower bud's pedals burst wide open and revealed within a slim silhouette. The figure stood up slowly and stretched as if awakening from a long sleep. Carrie saw the figure clearly for in the cavern she no longer had need of her own light because of its own mysteriously lighting. The figure was a woman with a set of hair, which coyly covered her clearly bare private extremities.

Carrie wasted no time and continued to drag Henry along. However a sudden shaking overtook the cavern and tipped her balance. She fell to the ground and dropped the crystal in the process. As she reached out to grab it from where it fell she felt something sharp brush past the back of her hand. Razor sharp thorns rose from the ground turning the forest into a deadly maze of blades. Glancing back she made sure that Henry had not been caught by any of the thorns. Looking again towards the crystal she extended her arms out carefully so as not to touch the thorns. Like before, an aura of light encased her hand, this time both. At first the spheres were faint, almost translucent. Quickly the orbs became solid-like and shot out from her hands as projectiles. Each orb cut down a thorn and thus paved a way for Carrie to grab the crystal.

Ascending from the thick forest came more flower buds, each one opened to reveal another similar resident. Carrie knew what they were although she had not encountered them before. Reinhardt had told her about these. Venus Weeds, Alraune, or Alura Une, these female creatures were among Dracula's most ruthless minions. Without hesitation Carrie unleashed a barrage of similar orbs at their growing number. Collectively they all began to scream.

The sound of the banshee-like screeches broke into her mind. It was beyond sound. They were in her head. Nevertheless she made an effort to focus. She thought of home, specifically her room. Grasping the white crystal tightly in her palm, she willed a portal into existence and so it did. The familiar image of her room appeared and she hurriedly ran towards it dragging Henry by the foot. Once safely through the portal Carrie turned to see if they were followed. Nothing…

It was at that moment that she realized something. The crystal was not active. No beams of light radiated from it. She looked back at the portal confused, and then it was gone. Had she created the portal herself? Henry had said to her that eventually she would be able to create them without the use of the crystal. Fear and tension were powerful motivators, which she knew well. Now that she felt safe and secure, Carrie turned her attention to the still unmoving Henry. She resumed her efforts to remove his helmet, this time with success. Underneath the helmet, Henry's beaming blonde hair was all a mess. Along with his face, it was covered in some kind powder. Carrie patted his face and began to clean it of the strange substance.

"Henry? Wake up," she insisted. But he remained silent and unmoving. She could not find any indication of head injury. His chest armor was not pierced in any way. Powder would seem to have entered through the slits in his helmet. He must have breathed it in and they were causing his bizarre sleeping spell. Carrie was beginning to worry. It reassured her that he was breathing, but he seemed locked in an unnatural coma. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and surprised her.

"Are you all right?"

He did not reply in words. Carrie looked into his eyes and gasped. His normally blue eyes were now a milky green. His hand reacted faster than she could and launched for her throat. Carrie could not believe what was happening, but her instincts kicked in and she began to fight of his chokehold. Her physical strength could not match his, however her magic could. Her fists became conducers of pure energy, which burned at Henry's skin. He did not yelp in pain, in fact he did not show any sign of being hurt. His face was frozen in a pure and uncharacteristic expression on anger. Whatever the powder had done, it had taken over Henry's body.

"Henry! Can you hear me? Are you there?" she began to call out frantically. But Henry's face remained fixed without a hint of recognition. Carrie inched toward her bedroom door. Henry suddenly leapt towards her. Carrie reacted by extending her arms out and forming a protective shield. Henry's body slammed into and deflected him backwards into Carrie's bed.

Locking the door behind her, Carrie waited outside trying to use each precious second to think of a plan that would disarm Henry and not kill him. Her thoughts however were interrupted by the sudden crash of wood splitting. Horrified, Carrie's gaze was locked at the growing hole that Henry was making in her door using his helmet as an axe. Finally he made an opening large enough for his arm and he unlocked the door. After kicking open the door Carrie once more raised her arms in a defensive stance. Henry had pulled his gun and began to fire directly at Carrie. Were it not for her shield Henry's precise aim would have killed her instantly.

Carrie knew that there was no reasoning with him. This was not Henry; it was something using his body. However she could not give up and be killed, not like this. Without holding back she poised her hands a foot apart and began to form a large sphere from the emptiness between her palms. The sphere quickly grew into a large ball which Carrie lifted over her head and threw at him. Being so large the ball engulfed Henry completely. Trapped inside, the ball began to cackle with energy which would strike Henry repeatedly. Still he did not show any sign of pain. The only indication that he was being hurt was that with each strike Henry began to sink to the ground. First on his knees, then finally he crashed face down onto the floor.

For several moments Carrie stayed where she was, kneeling at the edge of the steps which led down to the first floor. She looked to Henry for some sign of life. As before, he did not stir. Her heart raced as she pondered the worst. What if she had killed him? She didn't want to. Henry was her teacher, friend, brother. She held back her tears and got up. Cautiously she approached. Kneeling down at his side, she turned him over. A mix of surprise with guilt filled her as she felt the searing effect that her magical energy had on Henry's skin. Now facing up, Carrie found that his face had returned to normal. Gone was the alien face filled with hatred. He was now as he always was, pleasant, but now there was something lifeless in his expression. It was not one of sleep but of death. His eyelids were shut and his chest still. Carrie began to punch his chest.

"Henry! Please!" She hit his chest harder. "Don't die, please. Not like this." How could she have attacked him with such force? Why didn't she think of something else? Of what use was all the training that Reinhardt and Henry were forcing into her if he could put it to use in the one moment she needed? Unable hold them any further, tears began to stream down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she cried.

Carrie closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of Henry's corpse for another second. That is when he struck. Like before, Henry's hand grabbed hold of Carrie's throat. This time she did not react fast enough. Thrusting her backwards, the back of her head struck the wall beside her bedroom door and she instantly became unconscious. Slowly she slid to the floor. Henry stood up and recovered his gun which he had let go of before. Dropping the empty casings from its chamber, Henry reloaded it with fresh shots. Finally he raised his gun and pressed it against her forehead. His finger slowly pulled the trigger.


	5. The Box

Rosa left the train station in a furious rush. She handed the cabby every last dollar she had and pleaded with him to spare no expense to get her to the Longham Hotel. Swerving at maddening speed through the streets of London, they arrived in minutes. A large crowd was formed around the hotel and Rosa glimpsed the smoke rising from the bottom floor of the hotel. Room 16 was ablaze. Rosa leapt from the cab and ran into the crowd. Police constables were keeping the people at a safe distance as they waited for the fire engine. No one but Rosa seemed to have noticed that they were in fact down the street, no doubt waiting for room 16 to be completely charred before making any attempt to save the rest of the building.

"Carrie! Henry!" she began to call out. The panic in her voice was evident as she continued to call out to them. She thought to herself, surely they would have remained to insure that all evidence of Thatcher's death would be destroyed? Henry would oversee the police as they performed this controlled act of arson. They would, unless…Rosa's heart skipped a beat. What if they were in the fire? There was no reason to believe it had happened, but Rosa's maternal instincts could not help but think of the worse when it came to Carrie. Again and again she cried out, "Carrie!" Finally a firm hand grabbed hold of her shoulder. She turned fully hoping for a familiar face. To her consternation it was, but not one she was hoping for. It was the pipe smoking Inspector Sadler.

"Good heavens woman, what are you doing?"

"I'm looking for Carrie and Henry. I sent them here to inspect the body. Where are they?"

"I don't know miss. My men saw your two friends go in but didn't see them out. They looked all over for them but they were gone. We just assumed they were done and left. Were we wrong?"

"I don't know," Rosa said flatly. Without another word she left the inspector and dashed back to cab.

Thanks once again to the cabby's versatile driving, Rosa reached home relatively quickly. As she leaped down from the cab, the cabby smiled and called to her waving the bills she had paid him, "a pleasure ma'am. Always at your service!"

Rosa approached the front door with apprehension. Instantly apprehension gave way to terror as she saw a brilliant flash of light. At first fumbling with the keys, she then quietly opened the door and entered stealthily. Immediately she noticed that the back door was broken into. To her left, the door to the library was open. She slipped in and found Ann laying face down on the floor. She was about to kneel down to her when she felt the cold tip of a gun barrel press against the side of her forehead. Cautiously she turned to face the gun's owner. To her surprise it was none other than fiery red haired Simon Graves holding her at gun point. Noting the shock expression on her face, his finger went to his lips calling for silence. He then gestured her out of the room pushing her towards the steps. As they started up the stairs Rosa caught sight of Henry. She also glimpsed Carrie lying against the wall in front of him. Finally she saw his gun as he took aim at her.

"Henry!" she called out.

In rapid succession, Henry turned, took aim, and fired. Rosa was quick to react and moved to one side, dodging the bullet. Graves exclaimed loudly in pain as he caught the bullet in his shoulder and fell backwards. As the shot echoed Rosa stood still and holding onto the railing of the steps. Finally she looked to Henry. His face was different. He had an expression which she had never before seen on him. However the most telling clue for Rosa was his eyes. They were a greenish hue which she recognized, for she had seen something similar in the eyes of Harrison Thatcher's corpse.

"Oh, Henry," she whispered. "Listen to me Henry, its Rosa. Do you understand?"

His gun was still raised and now readjusted his aim towards her.

"You're stronger than this, Henry. You can fight it."

Henry's face suddenly broke into a grin. "No. He cannot. He is weak. He is broken." The voice that emanated from Henry's lips was not his own. The voice was distorted and the tone completely off. It sounded like he was trying to imitate someone else. "We will not kill you Rosa. We need you to take us to the box."

"Who are you?" she asked.

"We have many names. Some have called us Alura Une. You are Rosa, you carry the mark of Dracula."

"Mark? What mark?" she asked quizzically.

"Your blood was once his. It shall be his again when he returns."

"My blood will never again be stained by his curse. Reinhardt sent him back to hell. He won't be back in this lifetime."

Henry began to screech. "The Belmont's will never defeat Dracula totally. He will return!"

"Enough!" Rosa cried as the screech pierced her ears. "You said you want a black box. I have none."

"Yes you do, give it to us."

"I don't have it!"

Henry descended halfway down the steps to press the gun against her. "You will give it to us or die."

Rosa remained silent. The angry expression on Henry's face remained still. Suddenly he switched aim from Rosa to Carrie. "We will kill the child. We will kill this body." At the last statement Henry's gun finally came to rest at his own forehead.

This was no bluff. Rosa knew that this creature did not care. It had nothing to lose by killing either Henry or Carrie. There was no dealing with it. "It's not here." She finally spoke. But I can take you there," she said conceding.

At this point Graves stirred from where he fell and stood up. The possessed Henry pointed the gun at him as well. "You will follow," he commanded in his distorted voice leading them outside the rear of the house.

"I must admit, I underestimated you. I took you for nothing more than a common womanizer," Rosa said addressing Graves.

"Oh but I am. This is just my hobby" he answered with his trademark grin which repulsed Rosa.

"Silence!" Henry called out. His cry was accompanied by an unexpected and violent tremor that began beneath them. Rosa and Graves looked to one another and then to their surroundings. Rosa watched as her many flower pots began to crash to the ground and the glass of her greenhouse shattered. Suddenly the ground before them cracked open. A tunnel had been burrowed underneath allowing for a large object to pass through. Emerging from the deep cavity was a large pod covered in oversized leaves. The pod was pushed outwards by a large stem which held it up hovering a few feet off the ground. The large leafs dropped down and the pod opened into two halves. Stepping out of it was a single figure, a woman. Her long red hair nearly touched the ground and she was completely in the nude. Her eyes radiated green mimicking what she had seen in Henry's eyes.

"Alura Une?" Rosa said.

"Where is the box?" was the only answer as it spoke in a clearer version of the voice that had possessed Henry.

Rosa remained silent for a moment. She recognized that the creature was of a species she had heard Reinhardt refer to as Venus Weed. For the moment it did not make any other movements. The two of them only exchanged glares seemingly fighting a silent battle of wills. Rosa inwardly pondered on the fact that such a creature existed. She had dedicated much of her spare time to caring and growing plant life. Here was presumably the pinnacle of what plant life could become and all it wanted to do was kill and be done with her. It seemed ironic. Her only upper hand was that she knew where Thatcher had hidden the box.

"No harm must come to Carrie and you must release Henry," Rosa said, speaking succinctly. "I'll take you once I see they are safe."

The Venus Weed did not speak but instead walked towards Henry who still held his gun trained on Rosa and Graves. Taking Henry in her arms parodying a lover's embrace she then kissed him. One could easily imagine that she was kissing him passionately, but passion was not a factor. As Henry was released from the embrace Rosa caught sight of a dozen thin tendrils receding back into Alura's mouth. No doubt they were used to clean Henry's respiratory system of whatever medium they had used to take control of him. Once finished, Alura Une violently pushed Henry to the ground. Rosa rushed to his side. She detected a faint but steady pulse. Most importantly his eyes no longer had the green aura of before.

"Now," the creature said as it stood behind her.

"Very well, we go to the Botanical Society building. I'll show you where it's being kept."

"Thatcher didn't give to the society," Graves said suddenly interrupting.

"I didn't say he gave it to them. He hid it, and I know where," Rosa retorted.

The creature turned and raised its arm in a threatening gesture towards Graves.

"Wait, let him live!" Rosa found herself calling out despite her low opinion of the man.

"This one has interfered with us. He is a parasite, the worst of your kind." Alura spoke in a wretched tone snarling at Graves in a way one would not suspect a plant would be capable of.

"Perhaps, but I won't have you kill him, at least not in my sight."

"My Lady Rose…" Graves began to speak with a sly voice.

"Shut up, or else I might change my mind about pleading for your life," Rosa snapped at him.

"We tire of this banter, follow us," the creature said at last as it started for the pod. Rosa and Graves followed suit and soon all three stood in the center of the pod. The two halves came together seamlessly beyond the eye's ability to perceive. Outside the leaves encased the pod and the large stem began to retract back into the tunnel pulling pod with it.

In the darkness of the pod, Rosa could not see the faces of either of her fellow passengers. She could hear as outside the pod broke through miles worth of undergrowth tunneling a path underground to their destination. Unable to see her surroundings she was afraid to move and inch which led to a feeling of being trapped. The feeling was not unknown to her, but it had been a long time since she last experienced it. Trapped in darkness is what being a vampire was like for her. She had not wished for it and she saw no way out. Her current feelings recalled those of the past, feelings she considered to be of another life. Inwardly she prayed that the journey would be over soon. Her thoughts strayed to Reinhardt. How she wished he was here. But he wasn't. She was on her own. In the darkness her hand went to her neck and she felt his red scarf wrapped around it. Although it was just a piece of cloth, she felt reinvigorated. Though he was far away, completely unaware of her situation, she could still feel his love for her. The strength of the love he offered her was not something tangible, however it was there. It was rather a lot like one's faith in God. And like that faith, their love was unwavering.

The pod shook violently and she briefly felt the bodies of the other two passengers bump into her. A great crash could be heard as stone, earth, and concrete was pushed aside like paper. At last, the pod broke open and revealed that it had entered the Society building via the large green house it had in the back. Debris now littered the place from the pod's grand entrance. Ordinarily Rosa would be desperately trying to take in every detail of the fantastic exhibit of the Society, however now all she could do was stride by it quickly as Alura Une motioned her and Graves forward and together they started towards the main building.

"You were in the hotel room when Thatcher died," Rosa said rather than asked as she briefly shot a gaze at Graves.

"Yes." He said simply, not offering anything further. A moment of silence was all Graves needed to sense that Rosa meant for him to go into greater detail.

"I know you were funding his expedition. He wrote that you had an ulterior motive." She began.

Graves smiled. "So he suspected me? Here I thought he was paranoid. Driven off the edge…" He looked to Rosa who did not return his smile. "I had from my own sources that there might be a rare species of plant in the general vicinity of where I sent Thatcher. He had instructions to bring back whatever he found. I was to have first choice of the specimens he found. Whatever I did not want he could flaunt before the society for their precious fundraiser."

"Why did you want it? You did not even know what he would find. Did you?"

Graves glanced at the Alura Une who had remained silent all this time. The three had reached the end of the long hall which connected the greenhouse to the rest of the building. Graves stepped ahead of them and opened the door for them to pass. Rosa walked through however Graves saw that his captor remained still. He walked through himself catching up to Rosa.

"I knew something was wrong when on his return trip Thatcher did not communicate anything to me. I also noticed the trail that he was leaving behind." During the last remark he once more looked to the Venus weed.

Rosa stopped walking and faced her. "Meaning?"

"Thatcher was on the run. He was running from her. At every stop and port of call, Thatcher's presence was met with bizarre deaths. She's chased Thatcher half way around the world and killed most everyone in her way." Graves continued.

"You don't seem to be afraid," Rosa interjected.

"An object that this creature has traveled so far to take back is surely worth a little risk, don't you think? Now where exactly is the box?"

"How did you find out about the box?" she countered.

"I met him at the station. He became wild when he saw me, like an animal in a trapped cage. Berserk, he went running screaming 'it's mine!' In a rather dumb move for a scientist he checked into the hotel I knew the Society had paid for him. I had him followed and eventually I confronted him and then…" His hand pointed to Alura Une.

Curiously, the Venus weed seemed to know that this gesture was cue to impart her section of the tale. "Within hours of our coming here, we finally caught him. He had hidden the box. He refused to tell us where it was, so we planted him with a seed." It began.

"A seed?" Rosa thought aloud.

"The seed would grow inside him and give us a view to his thoughts and memories. However his mind was broken, muddled, and confusing. The seed could not stand being trapped inside of him and sprouted."

"Sprouted? That's putting it mildly my dear, I saw it," Graves added most matter of factly. "Before he…died, he said one word 'Rosa.'"

At this point Rosa interjected. "You saw him pay me a visit so naturally you broke into my home hoping to find it there and take it. And you," she said gesturing to Alura Une, "you loitered around hoping to find some clue. Am I more or less right?"

"Top of the class," Graves said not trying to hide his sarcasm.

"Where is the box?" the Alura Une began to insist once more.

"You were both wrong. In the end Thatcher finally acquiesced. He told you where to find the box. Graves misunderstood his final words to mean that he had left the box with me. Thatcher was a very vain man. What he really wanted to was to increase his notoriety and be the presenter of something that no one else had ever seen. He desperately wanted to share with the world what he had discovered. Thinking ahead, he hid the box in the one place where he would need it most." Rosa then turned and gestured upwards to large sign hanging over the archway leading into an exhibit.

THE ROSE GARDEN

At this, Alura Une hurriedly brushed past them both and entered the garden. Stopping in the center of the room she raised her arms which began to take on a dark green complexion. Rosa and Graves then watched in awe as her arms began to stretch outwards. Her fingers grew longer and thinner transforming into thin tendril like those Rosa had seen earlier. The tendrils were like roots breaching the dirt of the rose plots penetrating in, searching for the box. The cry of success that Alura Une made when it finally lifted the box from underneath the dirt was unlike anything Rosa had heard before.

At this point Alura Une no longer had two arms. Its appendages had transformed into many hundreds of thin tentacles gesticulating in rapid succession. It held the dirt covered box between a number tentacles and laid it on the floor before it.

"At last," the creature said as its tentacles reached down and began to pull on the lock which kept the box sealed.

"Indeed," Graves echoed as he took several steps closer to it. Rosa attempted to pull him back but to no avail. Finally the lock gave way and the box's lid was raised. At this point Rosa's curiosity got the better of her and she also stepped forward. Peering into the box the two of them were surprised to find a simple rosebud and some Earth. Rosa and Graves exchanged looks before looking again into the box. The small rose began to stir and ever so slowly the bud opened. Inside, instead of a bushel of pistils they saw a round object. The object itself began to move and Rosa clapped her hand to her mouth as she saw it turn completely revealing a human head. The head was nestled in the center of the rosebud and was like that of a newborn baby. Its eyes opened lazily as if it were just waking up. The expression on Alura Une changed from cold and emotionless to warm and maternal.

"Amazing," was Graves's reaction.

The baby began to cough harshly and one of Alura Une's thin tendrils reached in to coax it. After one cough, the baby released a number of small objects the size of a pea. Most of them landed on the dirt plots of the rose garden; however Graves noted that one fell at his feet. Subtly he looked down to it and smiled. With the utmost caution he stepped forward towards the two creatures. "I must see it closer."

The Venus Weed sensed Graves' approach and looked away from the youngling. Its expression became fierce as it saw Graves. One of it tentacles then aggressively pushed him back sending him to the floor. Graves loosened his muscles before she struck and was able to take control of his flight, landing exactly where he wanted. Slyly, his hand reached out and grabbed the pea-sized object and pocketed it. He was feeling positive about his acquisition when suddenly he felt a tentacle wrap itself around his leg. The appendage pulled at him before lifting him off the floor. Graves gasped.

"Put him down," Rosa found herself calling out yet again in his defense in spite of herself. The Venus Weed hissed and slammed Graves against the wall before releasing him. Rosa waited until the Venus Weed's attention turned elsewhere before walking over to check on Graves. He was alive, only unconscious. Noting that the Venus Weed's attention was still focused on the infant, Rosa began to search Graves' pockets for something, anything that she could use as a weapon. Finally, as she searched his breast pocket, she grabbed hold of a small carton box. Removing it, she found it to be a box of matches. Rosa smiled. The Venus Weed was still distracted and gave no sign that it had noticed her exiting the room. Rushing back the way they had come in, Rosa charged into a nearby supply room. The room was filled with various types of gardening tools of which Rosa grabbed a handful of. Fitting them all onto a gardener's belt, Rosa armed herself with a pruning hand saw, a fork, trowel, and hand plow. Finally she pulled a hoe from rack and spun it around as if it were a quarter staff.

While she had been arming herself, Rosa had heard the sound of concrete breaking and felt the earth shaking. By the time she returned to the rose garden she saw what had happened. The floor of the building had begun to split apart revealing the earth beneath it. Plants had begun to spring all around turning the Botanical Society's building into a real forest. Inside the rose garden, Alura Une with its infant was the center of it all. The roots sprouting from her body now gave her an arachnid-like figure rather than humanoid one. The infant had 'planted' itself in the Alura Une's shoulder and presently the two seemed in a trance. Rosa noted that Graves was still lying where she had left him.

"You have what you want, why do you remain?" Rosa said addressing the creature.

The sound of her voice was enough to break Alura Une's concentration. The small infant head produced an expression disturbingly similar to that of its larger counterpart. The infant however did not speak in unison with the adult.

"Your kind stole from us. You must pay."

"The man who stole from you is dead." Rosa countered. "What was taken is yours again. There is no need for this to go any further."

Alura Une smiled for the first time. "You, petty human, would pit yourself against us?"

"If necessary," Rosa answered confidently.

"Your kind and your insufferable hubris... Dracula is right to want to see you all destroyed. He will be pleased when next he awakens, for we will now lay you to waste."

One of Alura Une's many tentacles then launched towards Rosa and wrapped itself around her waist. The root-like appendage demonstrated its strength by lifting Rosa up effortlessly off the ground. Without hesitation Rosa swung the sharp end of her hoe into the tentacle. As the point pierced the 'skin,' Alura Une gave out an incredible cry. With another swing of the tool Rosa severed the tentacle and began to fall to the ground. Instantly another tentacle reached out and grabbed her, halting her descent. This time however the tentacle held her upside down and by her leg. Once more using the hoe, she swung it upwards and embedded it in the tentacle. Her leg was released and after a short swing, now hovered a dozen feet above the ground. Her hands gripped the hoe which in turn was impaled into the creature's tentacle. Rosa saw a swarm of tentacles reaching for her and she released her grip plunging herself downward to the floor.

She landed feet first and the high heels of her shoes broke. The bottom of her feet bore the full force of the fall sending a shock up her legs to her knees. The pain forced her to the floor. Quickly she removed her shoes and out of spite threw them at Alura Une.

The ground continued to shake tremendously making it very difficult for Rosa to keep her balance. Once on her feet, she peered outside to determine the cause of thunderous noises which seemed to be consecutively getting closer. She found in horror that huge tree trunks were sprouting from below the ground. The enormous trunks were rising upwards and breaking the building's high ceiling. One such trunk pierced the ground below her and Rosa found herself being lifted upwards. The trunk grew at an alarming speed and stopped short of crushing Rosa between itself and the ceiling. Rosa watched in awe as branches complete with leaves began to grow out of the trunk. She looked down at the rose garden exhibit and could not recognize a thing. The entire building was being transformed into a forest.

Rosa cautiously leapt from the top of the tree she was on and aimed for one of the lower branches but missed it. Dozen's of other branches passed her by as she failed to grab hold of them. As she fell, her dress was torn by thorns and the pointy end of the branches revealing the white undergarment underneath. By the time she was able to reach out and grab hold of a branch she was left in her long white underskirt and shreds of her red dress. There she rested for a moment. Her joints ached, blood poured from various scratches, and her head hurt. Finally she pulled herself up and took out the box of matches she procured from Grave's jacket from the pocket on her belt. The box had five matches.

The building had become pitch dark so the sudden light from the matched Rosa struck glared her eyes. She pressed the lit match against the trunk of the tree and the fire quickly spread onto the wood. The small fire grew instantly. Rosa heard the cry of the Venus Weed who could no doubt feel the fire as if it were burning her very skin. In a way it was. Tentacles like those she had battled before began to appear on all sides surrounding her. The hissing noise they made as they brushed past leaves and made them seem like snakes. With fork and trowel in hand, Rosa was ready to defend herself. A tentacle grabbed her foot once more and she was pulled clear off of the branch. Desperately she waved the fork above her head in hopes of it latching onto some branch. She felt her bones crack as she succeeded on doing just that. The tentacle continued to pull and the fork gave way. Rosa felt as though she were flying in the air as the tentacle drew her toward Alura Une swiftly through the newly grown forest. Her flight ended as the tentacle dropped her down and began to drag her along the floor. Rosa thrust her fork into the floor and managed a slim hold giving the tentacle pause. Having lost the trowel on the way down, her other hand was now free to reach into her belt for the box of matches. Rosa lit her second match using the floor to strike it and brought the small flame to the tentacle. It immediately released her from its grasp and disappeared into the forest with Alura Une's screech echoing in the background.

Rosa looked upwards and saw that her flame had grown, but not enough. She needed to spread the fire faster. From a nearby tree, she broke a thick branch from its trunk. Then, ripping a piece from her torn dress, she wrapped the cloth around the branch. Using another match, she turned the branch into a torch. The flammable cloth allowed the fire to grow quickly, but the small piece would soon burn out. Rosa wasted no time and began to run through the forested building touching each tree trunk she passed as well as the grass breaking through the floor.

The tentacles did not leave her alone for very long. Although her flames could now constitute a forest fire, Alura Une was still a threat. Pulling her last weapon from her belt, a handsaw, Rosa began to swing the bladed weapon madly. No longer a handful, it was now hundreds of tentacles which swarmed around her. Thrusting her torch at them, she hoped to lessen their number by setting them ablaze. This tactic was backfired as the affected tentacles continued to attack now armed themselves with flames. The swarm continued to gain ground and reducing the room Rosa had to move in. Finally the swarm was so close that Rosa was frozen in pose unable to swing either of her arms for fear that the tentacles would grab them.

For a moment, the horde of limbs ceased their advance. Rosa's eyes scanned them all. Her mind raced as she strained to find a way out. No idea was forthcoming. Ultimately her next course of action was taken out of her hands. The tentacles gently pushed her in a definite direction leading her through the forest. The tree filled forest ended and Rosa came face to face once more with Alura Une. Like before, she was still a nexus for the hundred root-like tentacles which she had been outrunning. Now however Rosa noted that she had rooted herself into the ground. It occurred to Rosa that this may have been the way in which the Venus Weed was able to force the growth of the surrounding plant life.

"You burned us," Alura Une said. "Do you know we can feel the fall of every leaf and the disintegration of every bush as your fire rages within us. This is why in our kingdom there is peace. You do not see plant kind fighting amongst itself. You and your animal kind kill one another and feel nothing. No pain, no sorrow, nothing."

"You and yours are not any better Alura Une. You'll kill me now with a smile on your face. What does it say about you?" Rosa retorted.

"You know your fate. Good. Now embrace it."

The torch and handsaw were ripped from her hands by two tentacles. A dozen others began to wrap themselves around Rosa's waist and chest. Slow at first, Rosa began to feel as the tentacles began to squeeze her tightly. First she felt shortness of breath as the pressure the tentacles exerted did not allow her chest to expand. This was followed by a stinging pain in her sides as the pressure reached her ribs. The pain became so great Rosa fell to her knees.

The chamber was suddenly filled with a soft gentle, child like voice. She looked up and saw that the infant Venus Weed was still attached to Alura Une's shoulder and had now begun to sing. The lyrics to the song were in a language that Rosa did not recognize. Alura Une smiled gleefully and did not even pay attention to Rosa as she entered into her death throes; instead she was lost in a trance.

"Listen, it is our song. You are fortunate. Because you have been touched by darkness, you can hear it and your mind will not break. That is why it was so curious that the man called Thatcher did not succumb to us. He fought until the end. But you have given up. You know that is it your time to die. Let our song be your calling towards death!"

Rosa screamed in agony. Staring at the floor she saw her own blood splatter onto it as she coughed. Raising her head she glimpsed the portion of Alura Une's torso that connected with the roots under the building. The tentacles that were crushing her did not hold Rosa back as she crawled forward towards Alura Une's roots. While the tentacles were an extension of Alura Une's consciousness, they did not seem to have their own intelligence. Either that or she was too lost in the music the infant made to notice Rosa's fist as it punched through the thin layer of 'skin' at the bottom of Aura Une's stretched torso. Underneath Rosa found several dozen string-like cords. They were 'the root of her problem,' Rosa thought as she wrapped her hand around all of them and pulled. The roots took some force to be pulled but they gave way with Rosa's penultimate ounce of strength.

A burning sensation covered her hand as she felt a liquid, the Venus Weed's blood, poured from the severed roots. Instantly Rosa felt the pressure around her chest subside. The lyrical and joyous music of the infant turned into a death chant with Alura Une's cries as its chorus. The two Venus Weeds were dying.

Rosa pulled herself out of the limp tentacle's grip and took careful breaths as she felt that her chest was still hurting. Smoke was filling the chamber and causing her to cough uncontrollably. Behind her she saw that the fire had grown beyond the once rose garden exhibit and was now enveloping the whole building. Out of precaution, Rosa pulled another match from her belt and dropped the flame atop of the now motionless Alura Une. Just like normal plants, the Venus Weed died as soon as it was torn from its roots. Its green skin turned to a dry gray which in turn became black as the fire consumed it. Rosa watched for a brief moment as the corpse was enveloped before turning towards the forest.

Still short of breath, Rosa walked as quickly she could through the vast forest that the building had become. As she reached the exit of the rose garden exhibit she saw that Graves still lay unconscious on the ground. As much as she loathed the man, she could not justify leaving him. Rosa bent down and grabbed one of his arms intent upon dragging him out. She managed to drag him only several feet beyond the exhibit before she fell to the ground exhausted. The fire and smoke had filtered into the building's main hall so she continued to cough. Rosa came to rest upon on the bark of a tree. Her gaze became distant and she felt her lids closing. Her hand came up to her neck. She still wore Reinhardt's scarf. No doubt removing it would help her to breath easier but she would not remove it. Rosa just touched it and allowed her eyes to close.

"Reinhardt…" she whispered as the image of her husband appeared to her in the darkness behind her now shut eye lids. The image suddenly became brilliant and shrouded in a green aura.

"Unfortunately not," said a voice which Rosa found familiar. The smoke which was filling her lungs was slowly pumped out of her and surprisingly not refilled with more. Her eyes opened sluggishly and she found herself staring up at Henry's face. No longer was it carved in anger as before. His face was restored to its normally beaming features. He gave her a quick smile before looking ahead. Rosa joined his gaze and saw that Carrie walked ahead of them. Surrounding them was a sphere made of a green translucent aura. The aura formed a barrier which protected them from the fire and kept the smoke out.

"Where is Graves?" Rosa managed to ask.

"Carrie is carrying him right behind us. Try not to talk, you need rest and Carrie needs to concentrate."

Exhausted, Rosa needed no further instruction. Allowing her head to fall back she drifted into a quiet sleep.


	6. Coda

The knock at the door was gentle, but Rosa was only half asleep and thus heard it clearly. Lazily she opened her eyes. Everyone, including the doctor, insisted that she remain in bed, however her desire was to be in Reinhardt's library and among his things.

"Come in," she answered.

It was Henry who came in through the door. Although three days had past since he and Carrie saved her from suffocation in the Botanical Society building, Rosa could see that he was still feeling guilty. Behind his smiling veneer was someone who was hurting inside. While before he was always mindful to make Rosa was safe and comfortable, now he treated as if she were made of glass.

"Is it all right to come in?"

"Yes Henry, that's what I just said." She emphasized. His normally troubled features were slightly more agitated as was also evident in his voice.

"I hate to bother you, but unfortunately he insisted."

"Who?"

"Simon Graves wants to see you."

Rosa let out a deep breath. "So he does," she said simply. Her thoughts returned to what she had read in Thatcher's journal. Graves had an ulterior motive in sending the expedition. His interest in the Venus Weed and his reaction, or lack of reaction, to something so fantastic was most curious.

"Send him in," Rosa said at last.

Graves was impeccably dressed and groomed in stark contrast to Rosa who although covered by a loose gown, was clearly bandaged around the chest, arms, and on her burnt hand. The man was smiling in his usual manner as he entered and extended his hand to Rosa. He was about to speak when Rosa cut him off.

"Call me Lady Rose and Henry will shoot you."

Graves' smile was unwavering. He glanced back at Henry who had remained in the room. Henry's hand patted the holster hanging from his belt and winked at Graves.

"Threatening to shoot me? He must be back to normal," was Graves' sly response.

"What do you want?"

"I only want to offer my thanks. I am not so dense that I do not realize that I would have perished if not for you. You have my gratitude."

"Mr. Graves, the current exchange rate on your gratitude is not in your favor. I suggest you find somewhere else to spend it."

"I see. Until next time? Perhaps under similarly interesting circumstances? So that I may return the favor."

"Graves," Rosa called out as he turned to leave. "You were surprisingly calm for a man seeing such extraordinary sights. I imagine most people would have either fainted or screamed at seeing such things. You however…"

Graves raised a hand. "Until next time," he said simply before turning and exiting the room.

Henry eyed him as he left and did not turn to face Rosa until he had left entirely. He then revealed that he had something in hand which he handed to her.

"A letter from Reinhardt," Henry said cheerily.

Rosa's face lit up like a night star as she eagerly grabbed a letter opener from a nearby table. The letter was postmarked from some place she had never heard of. No doubt when Reinhardt returned he would recount to her of all these far off places he has had to visit. Rosa unfolded the papers and was about to begin reading when she saw that Henry was still standing frozen on the spot.

"I'm sorry, Rosa."

"What are you talking about Henry?"

"I failed Reinhardt. I failed you and Carrie too. That thing took me over and…"

"Shh," Rosa whispered and she took his hand. "It was not your fault. You were not in control of yourself." Rosa could see that Henry was holding back tears.

"I nearly killed Carrie. I was going to shoot her. My finger would have pulled the trigger!"

"Henry, no one, not even Carrie holds you responsible for that. Alura Une's kind took control of you."

"You don't understand. I was ten years old when my father was turned into a vampire. He came after me. It didn't matter to me that he was a vampire; all I saw was my father. His face filled with a maddening thirst that he wanted to quench with my blood. I would not wish that experience on anyone, and yet…"

"Henry, I still trust you with my life and Carrie's. We both know that you mean us no harm. Reinhardt knows that and will understand."

"Reinhardt…" he sighed. "He left you all in my care, and I nearly killed you all."

"You underestimate him. He will understand more than you think, trust me."

Henry gave no indication that he felt relieved. Rosa could still see the guilt behind his eyes. After a pause he withdrew his hand and left her alone in the room. He would need time, Rosa thought to herself, time to heal. Setting Henry to one side, Rosa turned her attention to the letter from Reinhardt. She devoured every word in minutes. As was her custom, she instantly began to prepare a response. Normally her responses to his writing came easily, but on this occasion she paused to think. She reviewed again his letter and found herself drawn to one portion in particular at the very end.

_As I hunt this hell spawned creature, I want you to know that I do not think of my own safety. My thoughts are of you and you alone. I loathe leaving you behind, but this journey is one that I must make on my own. Although this beast I pursue now is not Dracula, its ferocity is unquestionable. I cannot risk your safety. I pray every night for your safety hoping that where I left you will be safer than taking you with me. I am close to my prey, and with God's grace, closer to returning to you. Be safe my dearest._

_All my Love,_

_Reinhardt_

With pen in hand, Rosa began to write.

_Dearest Husband,_

_In regards to your concern for my safety, let me lay the issue to rest. The greatest peril that this isle of Britain has to offer pales in comparison to the danger I faced on that small isle in Wallachia on which we met. Rest assured that I am safe in London and London is safe with me. Concern yourself only with returning home safely and into my arms. I sit here in your study among your books, among your belongings, and I ache for the moment you will once again sit at your desk toiling away at some task. Even if only to sit and watch you as you read endlessly on some obscure subject, I miss you. Come home soon._

_Yours forever,_

_Rosa_

Author's Note:

I find it extremely ironic that this story stars principally a female character. Most Castlevania fan fictions with a female lead revolve around Sonia Belmont of Castlevania Legends. Then you have those that are about Maria Renard, but then those are mostly are about loving Alucard. Those are followed by stories about original female characters…that's right, loving Alucard. The genre of female led stories can then be further subdivided into those stories of original female leads of Belmont lineage who may or may not meet Alucard.

Why is this story ironic you still ask? Simple. Victor J. Cardigan is getting married.

I did not plan on my last story as a single man to be a tale of a strong and heroic woman. Of a woman who loves her man so much that she is willing fight his battles even while he is gone. Of a woman who loves her man…immeasurably. I did not even plan on meeting the most incredible woman I've ever met. It just turned out that way. I'm damn lucky.

My hopes are that you enjoyed the story. I wanted to do something different in the Castlevania genre, something that would stand out against the flood of slash, humor, and crossover fics that have filled the Castlevania area. I also hope that while I'm not that great of a writer, that I will be a great husband. Wish me well. I will back soon, hopefully with a new story.

Victor J. Cardigan

HISTORICAL NOTES:

**The Botanical Society of London**: The society was originally formed in 1836 and dissolved in 1856 due to financial troubles. Its present day successor is the Botanical Society of the British Isles.

**The Longham Hotel**: This is a fictional hotel playing off of the real life Langham Hotel which opened in 1865 some ten years too late for our story.


End file.
